THE TRUTH IS MESSIE…

My e-journal, all the nitty-gritty, overly-emotional, sappy stuff…

Juggling It All. October 24, 2014

Well, I caved and bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday. Which…is just plain freaking crazy considering I just celebrated a year since I quit on the 16th of this month! Yeah…I have issues. Major, MAJOR issues. In my defense though, I haven’t opened them. I really, really want to. I just kept turning the pack over and over in my hand, wanting so badly to pack the darn thing and rip it open. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking buying the damn things.

Well, no…that’s not exactly true. I do know. I was thinking that I’m going nuts. Not like crazy, certifiable, lock me away in some white padded room somewhere nuts. More like the oh my god, I don’t know how I can keep doing all of this kind of nuts. I thought I could do this, I really did. I thought I could handle it. But now, I’m not so sure. The work for school is endless. Like literally…ENDLESS. The moment I get one thing done, two more things pop up that have to be done. I know everyone says that taking classes online is so much easier than taking classes on campus–but those people are talking out of their you-know-what’s! It’s not. The workload is double, if not more, than what you’d expect from an on-campus class. And the teachers just expect you to have the time to do it all. Like you have nothing else to do except devote your entire world and time to their class. I mean, if I had that, don’t you think I’d be taking the class on campus? Well newsflash dear professors, I don’t. I take care of ten-month-old twins. As in two crawling-climbing-constantly vying for my attention tiny human beings. They take up nearly every ounce of my energy…not to mention my time. I mean, I’m with them nearly 24/7. It’s a 5am wake-up call most days for me and the work day isn’t over until my sister gets home until around 6pm…if not later. That doesn’t leave much time for school work. She’s been trying to help out by taking the boys to my grandmother’s with her for a couple of nights during the week, but even with that, there’s still SO much work that has to be done, that it really doesn’t put much of a dent into it.

On top of all that, there’s a move. Granted, now that I’m going to be living on campus, there’s less to do with working out an apartment and all that comes with that, but still…it’s a lot. I mean, I knew this was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it was going to be THIS hard. And god, it really is. I had a moment earlier. And by moment I mean I totally lost it. Like full on tears, bawling my eyes out, feeling like I was going crazy kind of moment. I keep thinking, can I really do this? Can I really just pack up my entire life and move 900 miles away where I know nothing and no one? Can I really just start over? Does a clean slate really exist–or is this all just a really nice daydream? I’m great at dreaming these things up. Of making up these ideas in my head of how things are supposed to go…but they rarely ever work out. I’m starting to worry that maybe I want this too badly…and that maybe that’s a bad thing. I don’t want to mess this up and I’m terrified that I’m going to. Because that’s what I do. I mess everything up. Somehow…I always do. It’s like I’m my own worst enemy. Just when things start going good, I screw it up. It’s like I can’t allow myself to be happy…ever. Which I don’t understand because that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be happy. To belong. To be comfortable in my own damn skin. But this feeling I’m having…it’s anything but that. I feel…so out of sorts. Do I want too much? Am I pushing the line? Am I pushing myself? Asking for too much? Is happiness really all its cracked up to be? Is Nashville where I’m meant to be? I mean, I felt so good there. I really, really did. I mean, I thought I’d feel out of place there. I went down by myself. Just me. That, in and of itself, was out of the ordinary. It was the first thing I’ve ever really done BY myself. I bought the tickets, planned it all out…by MYSELF. With no help from anyone. I even rented my own car and refused to do any of those ridiculous tour things because I wanted the control to be all mine. I wanted to be in charge of where I went. And I did that. And I had fun. I had such a good time. And I loved the school and the people. And the area. It’s a lot of highway and interstate driving, which I’ll admit, was a little intimidating at first, but after the first day or two, I actually got used to it. It’s not so bad, once you get the hang of the names. I got lost a couple of times, but even then, it was interesting because I got to see a couple of neat areas in Nashville. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t once feel like I was in danger. Or feel uncomfortable. I felt safe. And good. I felt comfortable. It didn’t feel like home, but it felt homey…if that makes sense. This is just me getting cold feet…that’s what this is…right? I mean, I’m leaving in two months…so this is perfectly normal….right? Right???

RIGHTTTTT?

Ahhh, I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. I wish I could see into the future. That I had a crystal ball and could see that everything was going to work out alright. Because honestly, that’s all I want. To know that what I’m doing is right. To know that I’m not making the wrong decision here. That’s all I want. I’ve made so many messed up decisions in my life and for once, I don’t want to screw up. I don’t want to prove everyone right and mess this up. I want to prove them wrong. I want to succeed. I want to show them that I can do this. I know that I shouldn’t be thinking of them…that I should be doing this for myself. And in a way, I am doing it for me. Because in proving them wrong, I WOULD be doing it for myself. I just wish I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. All their expectations…like they always have…just make it so much harder. It weighs me down. No one knows what its like to feel like this. To have the weight of the world on your shoulders. To walk around, knowing that everyone is expecting you to fail. It’s a horrible, crushing feeling. And it’s tearing me apart. I just want to scream sometimes. To scream and cry and tell them all to back off and to get their own lives and to let me live mine. If I fail, I fail. But it’d be nice to do so without their watching and prying eyes. It’d be nice, if just once, they wanted be to succeed…if they could believe in me. Is that too much to ask?

I’m not a horrible person. At least, I don’t think that I am. I mean, sure, I’ve screwed up. I’ve done things that I’m not entirely proud of. I’ve hurt people. I’ve made mistakes. But…I’ve been hurt, too. People don’t see that. They don’t ask and I don’t tell them because it hurts too much. They think I’m strong, but I’m really not. I’m weak. So weak. I feel like I’m going to break half the time. Like I’m thisclose to shattering. Or maybe I am shattered. That’s the problem, I don’t know the difference. I know that I’m broken. You don’t go through what I’ve gone through and not come out of it in some way broken. I’ve spent the past decade wondering where I went wrong. Was it that night when I was 16. Did that one night really determine the rest of my life? Did the actions of one cruel person shatter everything that could be good for me in the world? I’d like to think that’s not true, but then, I don’t know. I’d like to think that there’s still good in the world…that I still have a chance to be happy, but everything that’s happened in the years since makes me think that maybe its just not meant to be. I think a big part of it is that maybe I’m depending too much on other people to make me happy. Take love, for instance. I look for it in all the wrong places…with all the WRONG people. My track record is proof in point of that…for damn sure. He who won’t be named–holy Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? That’s all I’ve been asking myself in recent years. What. The. Hell. I’m not playing the blame game here. He screwed me up. That’s just fact. Every relationship I’ve had since has been, in some way or another, marred because of what I went through with him. I don’t trust anyone. I just…don’t. And it’s not just them that I don’t trust, it’s me, too. I’m constantly second-guessing myself. My feelings, my emotions, where I stand in the relationship, what I want, what I want them to want, what I should want…it’s exhausting. It’s gotten to the point where it’s easier just to be numb about it. I tried that, too. Just casual. I mean, guys do it all the time. Why shouldn’t girls? But…that doesn’t work either because in the end, then I just feel cheap, like I did with him. And then I’m right back where I started. So, I’ve given up on love. Maybe it exists, maybe it doesn’t. I thought I felt it with him–but he destroyed my life and crushed anything that I thought even remotely resembled love–so I don’t know anymore. A friend and I were talking not too long ago and somehow he got brought up in the conversation and she asked me what I’d say to him if I ever had the chance and I remember my response being that I’d probably ask him where he got off ruining my definition of love. Because that’s what he did. It’s funny because I didn’t hate him, not for the longest time afterwards. Years even. I actually felt sorry for him. And in a way, I still do. I feel sorry that he felt the need to do what he did, that he felt so desperate that in order to bring order to his own life he had to destroy mine. But amidst the pity that I feel for him now, there is hate. I hate him for what he did to me, for wrecking me like he did. I’m not angry because he didn’t love me back or because he chose her over me. Hell, I’m thankful he didn’t. I didn’t know it then, but I’m so much better off without him than I ever would have been with him. As I’m sure he is without me. I’m grateful for the hate, though. As odd as it sounds, it’s given me a lot of perspective on the matter. I was young and naive when I met him. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what I was doing every time I went with him. My choices were mine and they were wrong. He may not have been married, but he might just as well have been. And that’s something that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. Knowing that. It doesn’t make me feel good, I’ll admit that. Like I said, I’m not a horrible person. I’m not okay with knowing that I was the other woman. It makes me sick just thinking about it. How I let it continue as long as I did, is something that I will never fully understand…and something that I have long since stopped TRYING to understand. It’s just one of those things that you have to let go and move past if you want to move on. It’s funny because because I used to think about him all the time. And then I just stopped. One day I realized that I’d just stopped…that I hadn’t thought about him once…and it didn’t hurt. And that realization…it felt good. Hell, it felt more than good. It felt great. It felt…healing, you know? They always say that time heals all wounds and I never really believed it, but sometimes, it’s true. I mean, sure, if I were to see him on the street, I’m certain the sting would still be there…but then, he was the first man to ever rip my heart out, tear it to pieces, then wave it around for all the world to see…so I think that’d be a fairly reasonable response. And I think I’m entitled to hate him just a little bit. I mean, it’s not like I completely despise the guy or damn him all to hell, though I’m pretty sure there’s probably a spot there reserved nicely for him đŸ™‚ but yeah. I’m allowed. He was a jerk.

me and my ex edit

But yeah, I don’t know how to trust guys now. I don’t know what to expect from them. It’s not that I don’t expect them all to have a wife or girlfriend hiding in the shadows…they’re not all that LOW…but you get the point. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has baggage. I think my problem is that I’m just not ready for a commitment. That’s it. I’m scared. Scared of falling. Scared of letting go and trusting completely. Because that means opening myself up to the possibility of getting hurt again. And I’ve been there. I know how badly that hurts. I know that raw feeling of pain…that devastation…that oh look the bottom just fell out and nothing will ever feel right again feeling–and it sucks. I don’t think I’m ready to feel that again, at least not any time soon. I know that eventually I’ll HAVE to risk it…but not right now. Right now…I’ve got enough on my plate.

So here’s to hoping I can handle it all…

xoxo MESSIE

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